Turn the tables
by Dunedain789
Summary: Instead of joining the 141, Cpt. Jonothan Price is sent back home to recover from trauma after escaping the Gulag.


**Chapter 1: Unbalanced**

"He's crazy as shit MacTavish, and you know it!"  
"I know _him_ Ghost! He's fine."  
"He's unbalanced," I snarl. Johnathan Price was a walking, talking time bomb. He'd get us all killed if we let him join the 141 right off the bat. A man taken straight from 5 years in a gulag and shoved into a special operations team… it didn't take a genius to realize that it was a bad idea. But MacTavish didn't see that. In fact, he was pissed I was arguing this with him.  
"For fuck's sake Ghost you're overreacting! Shepherd thinks he's fine and he wouldn't be saying that if he had his doubts about Price." If he wanted to gamble his own life on the sanity of Price then fine, but I wasn't going to risk the others. I step forward and get right into his face.  
"I don't give a shit what Shepherd thinks. Price will get us all killed!" He _needed_ to understand that this could not happen. That old debts cannot be paid off by letting the lunatic loose with our unit. MacTavish was being sentimental and was using Shepherd's twisted ideas back up his own agenda. I on the other hand, am not the sentimental sort, especially when it comes to putting lives at stake. I didn't trust Shepherd either. Why did MacTavish not see the danger in this.  
"Remember what you said? 'Hang the bait from a tree' to draw out Makarov." I search his face, hoping he remembers. Hoping that he might see the primary objective again. "That's what Shepherd is doing by suggesting we tag him onto the team. He's using him as bait! You going to risk sending Price out when he's this mentally unstable?" Another pause. I can see the cogs turning in his head. "5 years of torture, imprisonment and god knows what else for saving your life on the bridge all those years ago. And this is how you repay him?"

I could hear the medical officer packing up his things. MacTavish had promised to tell Price what the next move was. I needed him to send Price back home to Surrey. I needed to be able to trust the judgments of my field commander- at least one commander. I sure as shit didn't trust Shepherd. Too many things had gone wrong under his command. The ACS module had been found and cracked far too easily. Allen was KIA and his nationality had been identified easily by the Russians. Why had there not been preventative measures in place? How had we played right into Mararov's hands? The only easy bit had been getting Price out of the Gulag, and now we were hitting the snag.

The door opened and Price limped past us quickly, giving the medical center a frightened glimpse over his shoulder. I again wonder what happened in the Gulag, and exchange a furtive glance with MacTavish before we follow him. Price is out of breath by the time he's reached the end of the corridor. The look of terror and warning he gives us when we approach reminds me of a trapped rat. MacTavish reaches out to him and rests his hand tenderly on his shoulder.  
"It's alright Price. It's Soap," he reminds him gently. A flash of understanding and Price shrugs him off quickly, as if embarrassed.  
"I know it's you, you numpty!"  
I'm not fooled, I can see he didn't recognize him. He was loosing his grip on reality. Seeing enemies where there were friends. "So what's the plan? Shepherd said he wants me on the team." John hesitates, glancing at me.  
"We think you might be better at home, recovering," I offer quietly.  
Price scoffs, "With the world tearing itself to pieces?"  
"Shepherd wants you on the team for the wrong reasons. He'd be using you as bait to lure out Makarov," murmurs MacTavish, glancing behind him as if concerned about being overheard. Price shrugs, completely unphased that his life means little more to Shepherd than that of a worm's that's been tied to a hook. His reaction scares me. Evidently it scared MacTavish too.  
"You're not joining the 141," growls MacTavish forcefully. I glance at him and am relieved he's finally seen it. Price has no interest in preserving his life and that is dangerous for all of us. "You'll be sent home for pshycological evaluation and rehabilitation."  
Price's face twists in pain at this decision for a moment before it goes completely emotionless. He picks at a piece of torn wallpaper next to him, avoiding MacTavish's gaze. "Alright… when do I leave?"  
"I'll see if we can get you a ride back tomorrow morning," replies MacTavish evenly. Price gives a nod of resignation and MacTavish shakes his hand, voice softening. "It's good to have you back old man." Price can't quite suppress a tiny shadow of a smile before he heads to the room he's been assigned to clean up and get some rest.

"Thanks," I murmur, but the only reply I get is a noncommittal grunt, so I leave him be and head to the communal showers. I scrub my skin hard enough to turn it pink and sore, the grime collecting in the water running off my body, which turns black by the time it reaches my ankles. I rub the soapsuds into my hair as well, and pick out a few pieces of bone, which I collect in my hand. Must have been from the guard Roach tossed the grenade at. I let it fall to the floor and watch it fall down the plughole, the last piece of evidence at the man's existence disappearing from the world with hundreds of years of dust and misery the Gulag had contained.

That night, I watch again as Roach and MacTavish and Worm run towards our helicopter, out of the Gulag. I hear an incoming missile and I know what's going to happen. I yell for them to run faster but my voice doesn't work. The exit collapses and I wake up gasping, a scream from the room next door adding to the terror. A moment later a door opens in the corridor outside and MacTavish's voice filters through the walls from next door. Of course, I think, the scream was from Price's room. I roll over and control my erratic breathing and heartbeat, which is deafening in my eardrums. I'm thankful for the gentle, low rumble of MacTavish's voice from next-door. It calms me and reminds me he wasn't buried under the rubble of the Gulag with Roach and left to die. Before I drop off into the deep, dreamless sleep induced by MacTavish's voice I wonder… does Price's voice lull MacTavish to sleep too?

* * *

**Guess who's procrastinating exam study! Might have finally worked out the new fan fiction format! Phew!  
****This story will likely be a large one so if you want me to continue, please let me know with a review!**


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